The Case of the Prodigal Father
by Bartimus Crotchety
Summary: A Doctor John Watson, Police Surgeon: Scotland Yard story: There are secrets in every family. The Watsons secret just walked through the door of 221b. Now Doctor Watson has the most odious task he has ever undertaken. Telling James J. Watson he's a dad!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter Notes: **I was discussing my character James J. Watson with an other author, because they wanted to know more about what makes the jerk tick for a possible fic. While I explained James I found myself wanting to know more myself. This story is what resulted. If nothing else Merry Christmas James Watson fans (whomever you may be!) Holmes and James together! Sorry about that... :) This takes place years after the events in **_Doctor John Watson, Police Surgeon: Scotland Yard 3 Esau Have I Hated _**so you might want to go back and refresh your memory if you havent read it lately. **Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Prodigal Father**

It was just after tea when we got back to our Baker Street lodgings that Tuesday in April. Spring had managed to drive off all the last vestiges of a ghastly winter and London was stirring about like a winter skinny bear. Holmes and I had been entrenched in an exhaustive investigation of a missing heiress and victim of blackmail for the better part of the week. We had assisted Scotland Yard in the apprehension of the blackguard behind the scheme just after noon.

"I cannot wait to get off my feet, Holmes, we have been standing the better part of twenty hours I'll wager."

Holmes glanced up at the windows that represented our rooms. "You may have a little longer wait, Watson, as it happens I believe we have a visitor awaiting us."

"Oh, bugger all," I grumbled.

"Language, Watson, this is not the Indian service," Holmes teased as we ascended the outside stairs.

I was debating the appropriate gesture with which to offer a proper rebuttal when our landlady exited at the stoop, all in a fret.

"I need to know, immediately, do I appear in my right mind?" she implored wringing her hands in a dishtowel in the manner that some do prayer cloths at mass.

"You are as sound of mind as Watson," Holmes remarked, "small consolation that, what distresses you so?"

I shot my flatmate a glare of the vilest nature that I could muster as she began to explain, but thought better of it.

"There is a young man waiting upstairs, I won't detain you further. You will see the truth of it soon enough. I'll bring up some tea and scones in a bit," she informed with a firm nod for us to go on up before heading in to her own living space leaving us no wiser.

"I wonder what has her so upset." I murmured to Holmes as we climbed to the apartment above.

"I lack sufficient clues to determine her behaviour, "Holmes replied. He turned the corner to the sitting room, and paused causing me to collide with his back.

"Holmes, why did you stop?"

Holmes, a man who is rarely ever ruffled in my experience, turned to me white as a sheet left out on the line after spring-cleaning.

"Watson, I think I know the source of Mrs. Hudson's distress."

I leaned around Holmes to see with my own eyes. There, sitting on our best davenport, somewhat ill at ease was the younger man in question, the very image of me when I returned from Afghanistan brown and limping. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it possible. He had my strong jaw and moustache, curly tousled brown hair, and bright even hazel eyes that were regarding me with a surprising resignation. He was dressed in black including his shirt under the suit coat his wide brimmed hat in his hand, shoes shined military bright.

" H-hullo," he stammered in a voice very much like my own, Scots accent thick and native.

Holmes showed his knowledge of me in those moments as I had black spots of shock crowding the edges of my vision, he grabbed my arm and helped me to a seat, my doppelganger moved swiftly to my other arm with a strong grip. "I'm sorry, but there was no better way to be making your acquaintance," he murmured in an apologetic manner as Holmes poured me a Brandy.

"Who was your mother? Am I..." I managed after taking a gulp of the offered glass. My mind swirling with the images of women of whom I was acquainted in the time before his birth. It was a surprisingly short list considering my army days.

He seemed bewildered by the question. "Abigail Swan, o' course."

It all slid into place for me, I leaned back in my chair as the images of a sweet face ringed by deep auburn ringlets came to my mind unbidden.

"Holmes, I believe this to be my nephew."

Holmes and the young man exchanged a nod before the stranger turned back to me. "My mum said that you and my father where so identical as to be mirror images, but ta see yer face..." he said trailing off.

Holmes chose a briar from the rack, packed in some odorous shag and began fouling the air, his sharp gray gaze taking in our young visitor. "You are missing part of your uniform, Reverend."

Our guest started, as one might around Holmes keen intellect for the first time.

"I keep it off when I am travelling and not on tha good Lord's mission, how did ya know?"

I rolled my eyes. Here we go.

"No one wears unrelieved black unless they are in mourning, and most wear a white shirt even then. You are showing no signs of a current bereavement, but you have attended to someone quite ill recently from the faint odours of sickness and laudanum on your coat. Yet you wear your clothing as one wears a uniform, like it is part of your very identity. Your shoes are meticulous and well maintained, but they have a bit more wear than a casual traveller would accumulate, and from the clay trapped in the seams, on roads not often paved. So I am thinking that you must be a pastor in a village, fresh out of seminary from your age, and your accent, near Newcastle?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white collar, "I read of you, in Uncle John's stories, Mister Holmes, but I feel they may not have done you justice," our visitor remarked as he settled his white collar into place. "My name is Andrew Watson. I've come to ask for yer help."

"Please, go on."

Andrew studied his hands as he formulated his words.

"I know you've always been more than generous to me, Uncle John, I have tried to not be a burden to ya in the past, but I need ta find my father before the end of this week. I have no one else in which to turn. I have reason to believe that he's here in London, but that's all I know."

I leaned back in my chair, his words deeply disturbing me in a way I could not immediately express. "In what way have I been generous," I inquired.

Holmes read my expression.

"You did not know of his existence, did you, Watson?"

Andrew stared at me, his face slack with shock, as I confirmed Holmes's suspicions with a shake of my head.

The young man stood and began to apologize as he headed to the door. "I am very sorry that I have taken your time, I would have never come here had I known the truth."

I made my feet with a grunt at the sudden pain in my leg and stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"Just because I did not know of your existence, Andrew does not mean that I am not extraordinarily pleased to make your acquaintance now, take a seat and stop being daft."

There was a play of emotions on that familiar face, of a deep loneliness and a sense of abandonment that hurt my heart to see. I may not have Holmes keen intellect for physical clues, but when it comes to reading the interior of a person, I have a trained eye. I did my best to give him the validation he needed. "I'm your uncle, mind me now."

Holmes surprised me by calling, "You have yet to tell us how we can give you aid, it would be foolhardy to come all this way and not inform of us of at least that much."

Andrew meekly returned to his seat.

"It appears that we have some catching up to do. Please, tell me about yourself," I urged as I returned to my own perch.

He sighed as he leaned back. "You do know that my mum and yer brother were engaged at one time, and are aware of how that betrothal ended?"

I nodded my assent.

"The day that my mum surprised him at Cambridge and found him the arms of another, she had some news to tell him. She had determined that she was pregnant. When she realized that the engagement was over, she returned home without informing him, fully intending to raise me without his presence. She never married, and a single mum raising a child with a different name, you can imagine the stigma."

Holmes and I exchanged a grave look.

"If it wasn't for the occasional letter and money from you, Uncle John," he continued, then corrected himself his lips twisted into a bitter smile, "I mean if it wasn't for the money someone sent in your stead, then our situation would have been even more dire." His face flushed with embarrassment as he added, "My mum told me of your exploits as a soldier and then she made sure I read your adventures in The Strand. I wanted to grow up to be a doctor like you, but I had no talent for the sciences, and the army was not an option seeing as I'm an avowed pacifist. I grew up reviled for my illegitimacy, but a local parish priest was kind to me even though my mum and I were Methodists and not part of his flock. While helping him and because of his influence I realized my calling early on, and through the funding of that benefactor I thought to be you, I was able to enter The Wesleyan Seminary in Bristol."

"And you have sought me out now?" I encouraged.

He seemed to be gathering himself for the next bit. His hazel eyes found my own. "My mum is dying, the doctor told me that she has until the end of this week. She worked as a nurse to an elderly woman in Newcastle, her charge died of Typhoid Fever, and she contracted it from the same source. She has asked to see my father again before she dies."

"What makes you think that James Watson is alive, and living in London?" Holmes inquired with an idle puff.

Andrew reached into his coat and handed Holmes a letter. "She received this on her Birthday two months ago. I was visiting at the time. She never said a word, but was afflicted with melancholy for the remainder of the day." Bitterness flickered across his features as he added, "I suspected she received correspondence from Father from time to time, when news came that he was dead, she never mourned, but I underestimated their contact. At her insistence, I took this letter from her dresser drawer; she had a box full of them. I am an investigator by no means, but the post mark is clearly from London."

Holmes picked up his magnifying glass, his eye comically increased in size as he studied the envelope. "It is indeed, the postal mark is indicative of the West End, Chelsea, to be exact." He lifted the envelope to his nose, he took a long sniff, and his eyes closed in concentration. Andrew glanced at me his confusion apparent, I nodded in my most conciliatory manner as Holmes sniffed so hard, I was surprised the ink did not leave the letter and adhere to his nose. "This letter was handled numerous times, by you sir, and just before by a lady who is fond of lavender who I take to be your mother. Prior to her possession, it fell to a mail carrier. I can tell by the scent of linseed oil used to keep a mail bag supple, but before that... someone who spilled some high quality cognac on his hands just before sealing it."

Andrew's eyebrows raised in amazement. I just sighed having seen the process thousands of times in the intervening years.

Holmes opened the letter carefully, and pulled it out with forceps from his desk; he unfolded it with the barest touch of his fingertips and studied it.

"The writer was using the finest ink, but it is smudged in two places, from the size of the print I believe it to be a left-handed man, but one who was not steady when he penned this epistle, from the presence of the cognac, I can draw a conclusion as to why that was," he remarked. He lifted the letter to the light and studied it. "The Water mark is of a stationary sold at Winston & Went which has a Chelsea store, the ink is of a brand also sold in that establishment. Unfortunately, that particular company is the supplier for many of the finest Hotels in that district. So this might not be a private stock, which means that outside of the district, I can tell no more."

He studied the corners of the letter carefully in with the magnifier. "Ah, this is promising," he crowed, "it appears seems to be a tell-tale indention in the letter from something on the same writing surface. It is circular, larger than a coin with a serrated edge."

I sighed, and called out. "Could it be a poker chip?"

Holmes blinked in confusion and bent back to his examination. "By Jove, I think it may be."

He stared at me with naked consternation. "How did you determine that from across the room, Watson?" His tone was that of exasperation, rather insulting, really.

Andrew was watching my face carefully; for signs of impending argument. I gave him a small wink to let him know that things were not as serious as they appeared, then remarked, "I know my brother, Holmes, if he is staying somewhere, there will be gambling available or at the very least nearby."

Holmes leaned back blinking his eyes to ease the strain of his eyes, "I believe I know where he resided, at least when this letter was writ."

"What does it say?" I inquired, my curiosity aroused by the odd thought of my self-centred brother keeping correspondence with any one over the years. He was the last person that I would consider sentimental.

_Thinking of you, Happy Birthday Agatha,_

_Ham_

Andrew recited, his lack of inflection showing his thoughts more than a raised voice ever could. "All of the letters were just like that, unsentimental, brief, and uninformative."

I nodded. "Ham was a nickname very few people used. It is short for Hamish, which is James in Scots. He absolutely hated that name and changed it as soon as was prudent, for him to use it with your mum is telling."

His eyes met mine. "Telling of what exactly?

I shrugged, "I am not entirely sure, I will ask him when I see him. Which will be shortly, you have my word."

Andrew stood; he reached out and handed me a small letter from another pocket in his coat. "When you do see him, I would appreciate you giving my father this. My mum is the one that desires to see him. I do not. I need to start North this evening; I have left my wife to care for her in our home. We have a nurse to help and she is not in direct contact but I do not wish to leave her more than a few days."

I accepted the letter as I joined him. "You are married?"

His grin had all the shine of a newlywed recounting his love, "Just last spring before I left Seminary. Her name is Miriam."

I was about to give him my congratulations when Holmes called out. "How is the baby fairing?"

I could see from Andrew's expression the truth of the matter. "Very well, thank you, how did you determine my fatherhood?"

Holmes shrugged. "You live in a small village; you are a newlywed who has been married more than nine months, not much else to occupy your time. You are worried about your wife being with someone ill, a common concern if she is still breast-feeding. Also there is a small stain on the back of your coat, very faint just over your left shoulder where a baby might spit up as someone holds it to burp; there have been attempts to clean it so it is not apparent to most."

Andrew's cheeks were blushing from Holmes's assertions about how he spent his free time, but his eyes lit up as he produced a small but well-handled picture from his inner coat. The man certainly kept many things in his coat, reminding me of myself. Is a tendency squirrel things away like a pack rat in the blood?

He offered the picture to me. "Her name is Agatha, after my mum."

The child was so ethereal it took my breath. "She is beautiful."

He grinned as he accepted the picture back. He offered it to Holmes, but was declined graciously. "She is my light," he remarked as he put the picture away, "I hold her for morning bottle feedings, one which left its mark on my coat evidently. I thank God for her, and pray for the strength to be a good father." A glimmer of old pain twinkled in his eyes as he added, "I have not had the best example to follow."

"Even more reason for you to get back," I finished for him. "I will see that James makes it to your mum's side before this week is out if I have to tie him up and drag him behind a horse the entire way."

Andrew's gave me a glare of admonishment, but his small smile made it suspect. "I am sure that won't be necessary, Uncle John, but I appreciate the sentiment."

He held out a hand to me, but I ignored it and embraced him. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Andrew; I can't wait to meet Miriam and little Agatha."

His smile was a mixture of longing and happiness. "That...that would be wonderful," he said his voice catching in his throat for a moment. "I hope to see you in a couple of days."

He turned back to my flatmate. "Thank you for your help, Mister Holmes, you are quite remarkable, I wish you both Godspeed."

Holmes struggled not to make a usual disparaging comment about God's help not being necessary, I was very proud of his tact, not an attribute that came easily to him.

"Travel safe, Andrew, feel free to visit these rooms anytime you have need," he replied offering a hand to the young man.

The two men shook hands. After giving Holmes his card, Andrew replaced his hat and with a tip of the brim eerily reminiscent of myself, and was on his way, passing an ascending Mrs. Hudson, from the sound, to whom he gave his thanks and a blessing before he departed. She completed her journey, coming in and setting the tea tray down, giving me a pointed look.

"I knew you were a man of the world when I rented these rooms to you, Doctor Watson, but is there a matter of which I was not informed?"

Holmes puffed a cloud his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I hate to be indelicate, old chap, but that young man has a lot of your mannerisms, are you sure his mother has not gotten the twins confused?"

I gave him a scathing look for that observation. "I assure you both that I never had relations with Agatha Swan, she was my brother's fiancée and while I was acquainted with her, I would have never betrayed him so."

Mrs. Hudson looked embarrassed. "I am sorry, Doctor, but for a moment there on the stoop, I could have sworn I was seeing you on that first day, tanned and weak. The resemblance is uncanny."

I gave her a warm smile to show that I had no hard feelings to offer. "Those mannerisms are shared by James, we used to trade places, a game all twins play I'm sure, but we were particularly good at it."

Holmes was placing a scone on his plate and pouring himself some tea. "I think there are two issues at work here, Watson, and I feel we need to work on the matters separately."

"How so?"

He settled in stirring sugar cubes in with his spoon. "There is the issue of getting James to this dying woman's side, and also determine this benefactor. With your brother's shady dealings over the years, there may yet be an element of danger that needs to be determined."

A chill ran through my heart. "They could have invested in Andrew, hoping that his father might return someday."

Holmes nodded. "It would not be outside the realm of evil I have viewed over the years."

Mrs. Hudson was watching our discourse. "This is none of my affair; if you need anything ring the bell." She began to leave but then paused, "I hope he visits again, he is such a nice boy."

I smiled. "Yes, hard to believe he came from my brother."

"Nevertheless thou shalt not build the house; but thy son that shall come forth out of thy loins, he shall build the house unto my name, 1 Kings 8:19," Holmes quoted.

He glanced up at our shocked faces. "It's a passage speaking of a father who is unworthy having a righteous son," He explained. When our expressions did not alter, he added, "there are many pathologies and behaviours based in religious thought, it has been advantageous to me to memorise the tomes from which it sprang," When we exchanged a dazed glance he called out rather impatiently, "Back to the issue at hand!"

That shook us from our revelry, Mrs. Hudson left with a huff.

"So you know where James was staying two months ago," I stated as I joined Holmes at the table, and poured myself a cup.

Holmes nodded dripping a bit of jam on his collar, causing me to wince. "I know where to begin, but I believe that you can run him to ground as easily as I. I would suggest borrowing your good friend, Lestrade."

I gave him an impatient look. "He has been your acquaintance longer than he has been mine."

Holmes smirked. "And yet you get invited to his home frequently, know his wife and family, and have received visits that have nothing to do with crime."

"Well if you would not insult the man, belittle his efforts and insist that he only trouble you if there is a body on the ground, he could become your friend as well," I replied in a wheedling tone.

Holmes looked confused. "Why would I wish such an alteration of our current paradigm?"

I sighed; it was like explaining a rainbow to the blind. "Never mind, just tell me where to start and I'll see if Lestrade is free."

He nodded. "While you tend to this business, I'm going to visit the Seminary."

I actually had to spit my tea back into my cup so I would not choke. "Why would you go there?" I demanded.

He looked taken aback. "Andrew's bills were paid by someone he believed to be you, that money came from somewhere and that's the beginning of the trail."

"Just give me your word that you will not disillusion anyone while you are there!"

Holmes looked appalled that I would suggest him capable of such a dastardly thing. However, under my unrelenting gaze, he acquiesced. "You have my word."

"Very well," I affirmed. "I may have the more difficult task of the two," I added.

"Why do you say that?" Holmes queried.

I sighed long and deep. "I have to inform James J. Watson that he is a grandfather."

* * *

**Story Notes: **The big question that may be asked, why Andrew Watson, and why make him a Wesleyan Methodist Parson?

I chose the name Andrew because his father and uncle were named for Apostles in the Bible. My favorite Apostle (like favorite dessert topping LOL!) is the brother of Peter, Andrew. The reason why is that Andrew was the encourager, he connected people then stayed in the background and was the instigator, a role my Andrew plays in this story. I made him a Methodist because of the widespread impact that particular brand of Protestantism had on rural communities of the English Isle. I chose to not make him Catholic because his Uncle came from the same background as Andrew's Mum and he was not so I went from there.

I did my best to not make Andrew Mary Sue. I think he shows abandonment issues and a struggle with forgiveness that rounds him out somewhat. I hope you agree.

Besides his father is James Watson...bitterness has got to be present! LOL!

thanks,

**Bart**


	2. Chapter 2 The Search for James

**Chapter Notes: **The Hunt for James is on!

If you are wondering how James escaped from his Island prison...I'd like to know that myself but he said "A girl's got to have his secrets." I decided my need to know was not that desperate LOL!

For those who secretly like James, enjoy!

For those who hate his guts he does get roughed up a bit so you enjoy was well LOL!

**Bart**

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**The Case of the Prodigal Father**

**Part Two**

For the rest of that night I tried to understand the significant change in my world. It was almost as jarring to me as Holmes returning from the dead after three years.

I was an uncle, not only that, I was an example to a young man who had devoted his life to service to follow in my footsteps and I did not even know he existed. I was also a great-uncle and it was obvious, even if I found James, that I would most likely become the grandfather figure in this little family. I could already foresee trips to the countryside to visit a nephew his wife and a grandniece, along with any other offspring they might have. Yesterday I was a single man; in less than an hour, I learned that I had a greater connection than I ever believed possible. It was a daunting reality indeed.

Holmes watched me with amusement as I sat before my journal at my desk in my robe and slippers attempting to describe this event for future posterity.

"You're already planning to adopt him as a son, are you not?" Holmes called setting down the violin that he had been cheerfully abusing for the last hour.

I turned in my chair to give him a tolerant stare. "Do not attempt to discuss matters that are foreign to you, Holmes,"

Holmes took my warning in stride with a laugh. "On the contrary, dear Watson, I know you very well, and I know your soft heart. I wish to play devil's advocate if you will permit."

I waved for him to continue, rather brusquely I must admit.

He picked up his smouldering pipe and began to puff contentedly. "This young man has been raised his entire life with an idealized version of you, Watson, you are entering a situation where you can do nothing but disappoint."

"I am aware of that fact, next point?" I replied impatiently.

His eyes took on a rare softness as he complied. "James is his father, John, absentee no doubt, but by blood it is his responsibility to be that father and grandfather. What if you moving in to that place prevents him from becoming a father for Andrew and salvaging what little chance he has to redeem himself?"

He had spoken aloud my biggest fear, but I was ready to answer. "James is James, Holmes, even if I explained to him that he has a responsibility to this lad, I'm certain he would not understand the significance. He has lived for himself all our lives, despite my romantic streak that you lament often, I do not believe that people drastically change whom they are late in life when confronted by opportunities of benevolence. I have grown far too cynical in my old age to be convinced that a leopard will spontaneously change its spots."

Holmes appeared agitated for a moment, seemingly making up his mind to speak; when he finally did, it took me aback.

"Out of all of the many things that I have admired about you in our many years together, your heart has been the most outstanding. You believe in people, Watson, you are the one that sees the good and the possibilities for change. You have been the one to argue leniency when it did not appear deserved." He paused then continued. "It was that heart of yours, that when others saw an exasperating, emotionless calculator, you saw a man who could use a friend, and have forgiven him his many trespasses and believed in him all the long years."

His eyes found mine. "Occam's Razor, Watson, the most obvious answer, no matter how unlikely is often the truth, I know you too well to believe that you have given up on James entirely."

I cannot express how his words moved me, he went right back to his musical abuse leaving me to my thoughts. I think expressing that much of his inner world appalled him, and he was hoping I would not comment further or even acknowledge the words spoken. Therefore, I turned back to my writing and let the moment pass. I am not entirely sure but I believe I heard a sigh of relief somewhere in the misshapen notes he was producing.

There is a strange companionship here in 221b, one that others might find quit disturbing, but it suits us fine.

---

The next day Holmes and I separated, he to Bristol, I to Chelsea.

Lestrade was involved in several important matters when I visited Scotland Yard on the way, so with a sly wink he left his office and those difficulties behind him. His explanation was, "What can they do about it? Curtail my chances for promotion?"

He and I had a good chuckle about that.

Holmes was quite right about Lestrade being my dear friend. Of all the events that occurred from his three-year absence, my friendship with the long-time Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard was a result that almost made me grateful for that dreary interim.

Lestrade fretted at times that he was not as fascinating or exciting as Holmes, but it was that down to earth persona that I found solace in. After spending a few days with genius, it is nice to have conversation that you understand every topic discussed. That is not to denigrate Lestrade's intelligence; the man has a sharp wit and sense of humour that more than make up for any lack of book based intelligence.

We took the underground South Kensington tube to Chelsea; I caught up Lestrade on the momentous events of the previous evening.

"So the lad looks like you and James," Lestrade mused, "poor chap, with your ears and thick neck, I'll bet he resembles a misshapen bulldog."

"Says the talking ferret with a badge," I reasserted with a wry smile.

Lestrade laughed, "Touche, mon frère."

I will admit that sometimes Lestrade's sense of humour can be grating, but I hold my own.

We disembarked at the Knightsbridge Station, and made our way with the milling throng to Sloan's Square. I was well acquainted with this area having enjoyed the gardens with Mary during our walks down from my Kensington practice. The view of the Thames is quite romantic this time of year; Holmes would be rolling his eyes just about now.

Holmes knew of a Hotel that was walking distance from several exclusive gentlemen's clubs, and also hosted a high-stakes game twice a week. It was within walking distance of the Chelsea Winston & Went branch.

The Hotel in question, Mandingham on the Thames, was as opulent and pretentious as expected. We entered the garish lobby and with a few discreet inquiries, and exchange of a few ten-pound notes, and Lestrade flashing his badge under a large concierge's nose, we were admitted to the grand salon and its gaming tables. We saw some disaffected gentlemen throwing about more money than Lestrade could hope to see for a year, but no James. I was just about to make a suggestion about our next stop when a well-dressed young lady made my acquaintance with the back of her hand.

**(1**"Vous canaille menteuse!" she screeched as Lestrade managed to restrain her.

As I checked my jaw for dislocation, (for all her feminine wiles that woman punched like a long-shore man!) I could not help but feel some elation.

_James had been here!_

Noticing the young bucks who were gathering to give the lady aid, Lestrade flashed his badge with a warning look keeping the dandies at bay while I attempted to explain that I was not the coquin, after all. It took a few entreaties, and showing her my own identification and a faded picture of James and me in long ago younger days, but soon she was convinced no more violence was warranted.

Lestrade being Hugenot on his father's side was able to converse with her in French expediting matters quickly. I was fluent in the language but native speakers had a flow that I could never match. I understood enough to tell me that James had drained a significant amount of the young woman's trust fund before disappearing the previous week. Meaning that we had just missed him, but confirming that we were in the area.

"If you should zee Giles," she informed us with a sniff, "tell him dat I will forgive him even if he has lost ze money."

Lestrade gave me a look but I gave him a little shake of the head to let him know I would explain later.

Giles?" Lestrade inquired the minute we made the street.

"Giles Van Landingham, it is one of his aliases," I explained.

Lestrade shook his head in disgust. "That girl is young enough to be his daughter, and yet she would take him back the next instant, what is he doing to acquire that level of interest?"

I shrugged. "It will always remain a mystery to me, Lestrade, I have always been nothing but respectful and kind to the fairer sex, but James has cut a swath through their numbers, and I have had little luck over the years."

Lestrade smiled then said, "And yet here he has from your account a wonderful son, and is a grandfather to a beautiful little girl, has a woman whose dying wish is to see him one last time, and here you are trying to fulfil that wish."

I gave him my lopsided grin. "I never said life was fair."

He laughed and clapped a hand on my shoulder as we planned our next move.

I know James well enough that he was not going to let the little trust fund bird get too far away, so we narrowed our search to the immediate area.

After searching several gentlemen's clubs were I was accosted twice more, we closed in on a two story Victorian structure just off of Cheyne Walk. It was called the Mongolian Men's Club, and it was so exclusive that we only heard of it in passing at one of our earlier stops. The two men were conversing about the problems of gaining admittance.

We arrived across the street, and saw a large contingent which made the thought of rushing the doors daunting to say the least.

"I could call in the Yard and raid it," Lestrade offered.

I turned down the offer, if he could get a judge to sign the order, there were most likely enough high powered barristers within those doors to make the Met's life misery for the foreseeable future.

"I have a better idea, stay close," I called over my shoulder.

As we crossed the street, I changed my walk to a stroll and changed my expression to one of bother and boredom.

I had heard someone call the large man on the right Randolph earlier so I closed in on him.

"Randolph, I stepped out for brunch and I seem to have misplaced my membership card," I drawled my voice insouciant and colored with a slight Scots burr, "I know you're not going to bar me for such a trifle as that."

The man glared at me for a few moments, convincing me that he did know my brother. In one move, I had managed to confirm that he was inside and acquired entrance to retrieve him. Or, so I hoped.

"Who is that?" he grumbled indicating Lestrade.

I gave Lestrade an impatient look. "This is my valet, Roche, not much to look at but he's been in the family for years."

**(2**"Oui, j'ai été dans la famille depuis des années, et cet homme est un salaud," Lestrade quipped, clicking his heels together and giving the two men a short bow. I acted oblivious to what he just said as Randolph snorted, showing he knew French and agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly.

"Go on in Mister Gerard, your valet too, but he is under your auspices," Randolph informed as he stepped to the side. As we entered the foyer, with a cloakroom clerk off to the side, I heard Randolph and his partner having a laugh at my expense.

"That was uncalled for, Giles," I murmured.

He gave me a smile that was unrepentant, "I am not good at improvisation so I went for truth."

We turned down the offer to take our coats informing that we would not be there long, and made our way into the main room.

I was getting some very strange looks and double takes, so I knew my brother was in residence.

Lestrade grabbed my arm and pointed. I heard James before I saw him. That voice was unmistakable.

"I would love another Martini, love, but only if you promise to not to bruise the vermouth within an inch of its life this time, and with a twist, these olives are dreadful."

We had not seen each other for nearly a decade, the last time I was bidding him goodbye as he was boarding a ship for an island prison run by the Diogenes, it had not extradition or way off. He managed to escape after one week, no one knew how. The last thing anyone heard before his disappearance was, "I simply must protest the lack of a concierge, dreadful oversight on your part, really.'

There he was no worse for wear. He was grayer at the temples, but the suit was the usual finest cut and the careless dark brown curls, cut by a master barber as always, we still shared a moustache to my chagrin. Even after so many years without contact, we were still making many of the same choices when it came to appearance, a fact I found most disconcerting.

However, in that moment, listening to that familiar voice berating a poor server, I realized that some small part of me actually admired him his freedom from societal convention and politeness. It always seemed that there was a different set of rules for him, and he would always land on his feet in the best of circumstances. That sentiment was only an inconsequential piece, the majority just sighed that I was spending the next few days in his presence.

"How do we handle this?" Lestrade inquired under his breath.

"Do you have your bracelets?" I replied.

Lestrade's smile was evil as he held up his handcuffs to my sight.

We burst into the game. "Excuse me gentlemen, but I'm afraid we have a report that this man has been cheating up and down the Walk. I grabbed James's hand and raised it to their sight to show the palmed Ten of Diamonds. They all startled and showed signs of anger, I saw from his chip pile that he had been fleecing the sheep steadily for most of the morning; Lestrade showed his badge, yanked a sighing James out of his chair, and slammed him down on the table spreading cards and chips everywhere, rather roughly slapping the cuffs on.

"Hullo, John, how's kicks?" James remarked as Lestrade finished restraining him.

"James, you were in town and never came to see me, I'm disappointed in you," I replied as we attempted to rush back out the door before we could be questioned.

James smirked. "The last time we spoke you were sending me to spend the rest of my life in menial labour on an island in the Pacific that doesn't officially exist; I thought you didn't like me anymore."

We paused so the stunned clerk could retrieve James's overcoat and hat when I replied, "There's where you're wrong, dear brother, I haven't liked you in years."

We hit the doors and had James past Randolph and his simian partner before they could object. I turned to let them see how they had been duped.

**(3**"Nous vous remercions de votre compréhension, mes amis, nous vous troublent pas plus," I called back with a half bow as Lestrade hailed a cab.

"I told you he was a bastard," Lestrade added cheerfully.

"I would concur, but unfortunately, I was there," James remarked as I shoved him into a hansom ahead of me, trapping him between Lestrade and I.

I let the cabby know to head for the Underground and we set off.

James leaned forward as I placed his overcoat over his shoulders, and jammed his hat on his head.

"How kind of you," he remarked, "now if you would remove these bracelets, they might be stylish in Germany but they are rather garish for the West End."

He eyed Lestrade, "Ah, Chief Inspector still, if you picked a better partner, Superintendant might be even in your humble grasp."

Lestrade leaned forward to address me. "I have a holding cell full of violent offenders, if you need a place to store him for the night."

I smiled. "I appreciate the offer, dear Lestrade, but I would not rob Holmes of the pleasure of making my brother's acquaintance."

Lestrade shuddered.

We managed to get James onto the Underground and got off in South Kensington without too many offended persons threatening James before Lestrade and I said our goodbyes. "Keep the bracelets as long as you need, Doctor, I have a spare set."

"No doubt for personal use, "James remarked.

Lestrade rolled his eyes and reiterated the offer to stick James in a cage with the animals for the night, which I again politely declined.

We were in yet another cab on our way to Baker Street when James finally asked the question I was expecting.

"I know you are not kidnapping me out of affection, to save me from my decadent ways, so will you tell me the true reason for this displeasure, or do I have to guess?"

I lit myself a cigarette and offered him one, which he declined with a wrinkle of disgust. I blew out a cloud and began my story.

We were a few blocks from Baker Street when I finished. His face had gone impassive as I recounted his son's words about his mum's condition.

"I promised Andrew that you would be at his mum's bedside before the week is out if I had to drag you there," I stated with a flourish of smoke.

James was silent, then he said, "I have cigarettes of the finest Turkish blend in the antique case in my inner coat pocket, for Deus sakes light one for me, my nerves are shite."

I complied and he inhaled with a contended sigh. He showed remarkable aptitude for smoking without hands, I really did not want to know where he picked up that ability.

"So?" I began.

"So, what?" he finished for me.

I met his eyes, so like my own but utterly alien, looking for a shred of sympathy or grief and finding none.

We continued with no further words.

I helped him out of the cab in front of 221b, and paid the fare while he waited impatiently by the door. He was arching an eyebrow at me to show disdain for my quarters but I gave him no heed.

As we entered, Mrs. Hudson stuck her head out. "Dinner will be served at six o'clock sharp; do I need to set another place?"

She saw James the next moment. Her face went slack in shock, I think seeing Andrew the day before buoyed her somewhat, so she recovered quickly.

"Who is this lovely creature," James purred.

"Mrs. Hudson, James Watson, my brother," I informed with a weary sigh.

She smiled at him with a twinkle. "If you think I'm not immune to Watson charm by now, you are in for a long night. He can sleep on the couch, Doctor, but I want this rascal gone tomorrow morning, am I clear?"

"Yes Mum," replied tipping my hat in salute.

She dismissed us both with a sniff and closed the door behind her.

James looked taken aback. "Rascal? That was rather judgmental was it not?"

I laughed and nudged him up the stairs ahead of me. "It's not considered judgmental if someone sees you for what you are, its called assessment."

"If I had feelings, they might have been hurt by that," he remarked in an offended tone.

I nudged him even more pointedly ahead as a response.

---

I spent the next few hours getting James settled, listening to all manner of insults about the place I had long called home. I was mostly immune, but on a couple of occasions, I touched the drawer that held my wrapped Webley in its box with a sense of longing.

I sent for James's luggage but it was hours before it arrived. The deliveryman rang for me and I walked down to find four large trunks in the process of being unloaded from the cart bed. I made James pick out one trunk that held the items he would need. After much wringing of hands and tragic tales of woe from my brother about what I was reducing him to, I sent the rest to a storage facility that Holmes and I had rented jointly for the last five years when his trophies and my books failed to coexist in our small quarters.

Dinner was due any moment when I heard a cab out front and a familiar cadence of footsteps on the stairs.

This moment I had been increasingly dreading for the last few hours.

_James Watson, meet Sherlock Holmes…_

_

* * *

**  
**_

**Translations:**

**1)**"You lying scoundrel!"

**2)**"Yes, I have been in the family for years, and this man is a bastard."

**3)**"Thank you for your understanding, my friends, we trouble you no more."


	3. Chapter 3 Travels With James

**Chapter Notes:** Here it is folks the meeting that has launched a thousand plot bunnies! Well at least three that I know of LOL!

James and John traveling turned out to be a lot more fun then I would have thought, these two have a deep history going back all their lives and I think it comes out beautifully. Here is a man who knew our Watson before he was our Watson, it's neat to get that insider's view, even if we want to strangle that insider the majority of the time!

Enjoy!

**Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Prodigal Father**

**Part Three**

Holmes paused at the top of the stairs, as most would seeing your long time flatmate over at his desk, and someone resembling him down to the last hair lounging by the fire as if he owned the place. Some would check themselves for madness, but this was Holmes.

"Bristol was uneventful; my first inquiries were met with a curious lack of cooperation." He remarked as he removed his hat and coat.

I nearly laughed when I saw James's reaction at his instantaneous dismissal. "It's called having a privacy policy, Holmes, nothing more sinister. It is a seminary," I called as he selected a briar pipe from the rack.

"We will debate the sinister nature of the seminarian at a later time; I acquired the information I needed soon enough."

James shifted in the seat trying to bring attention to him, but he did not know my flatmates focus is absolute, until Holmes was ready to acknowledge him, he could set himself on fire like a protesting fakir and Holmes would idly ask what was burning.

"Holmes!" I bellowed, "You said you would behave yourself."

He cocked a wry eyebrow in my direction, causing me even more alarm. "I jes returned at tha luncheon hour while tha office was manned by a student in me guise of Reverend Shamus MacGregor, alumnus of tha '82 class, lookin ta call upon the newest vicar in me parish, but didna know his name outside of tha surname bein Watson," Holmes replied with an exaggerated Scots burr. "They took out Andrew's personnel file for the kindly old gentleman and my eidetic memory did the rest."

I shook my head appalled while James cleared his throat impotently.

Holmes sat at his usual perch having packed his pipe with shag and lit it, his long legs slid over the arm of the chair as he made a contented sighing noise before continuing.

"There was a contact address for any billing issues, it was in Dorchester, I intend on taking the train down tomorrow. I'll send you a telegraph at your nephew's abode letting you know my findings." He concluded.

"You're not coming along?" I inquired, trying to keep the bother out of my voice.

His gray gaze found my putout brother. "I feel my presence is better utilized in my current quest, your family matter is not my concern."

"I thought you'd be taller," James remarked.

Holmes smiled around his pipe, "I thought you'd be more elusive."

I sighed.

James tried not to let his anger show, but alas, he has Watson blood, and a slightly more civilized bullpup of his own.

"More elusive, in what way?" James pressed his tone showing his affronted condition.

Holmes shrugged. "You escaped the Diogenes Club Colony, and managed to fake your own death twice, and yet my Boswell and Chief Inspector Lestrade found you just before noon, I expected you to thwart their efforts at least a day or so."

I felt my own surge of temper as James scoffed. "We are not entirely devoid of ability, Holmes!" I called, but he and my wayward brother were locked in a battle of wills.

"How did you determine my capture was before noon, one of your parlour tricks no doubt?" James stated in his most scathing tone.

Holmes replied with an easy smile. "To the primitive mind, science does appear to be magic. In this case, I noticed scuff marks at curb side indicative of a trunk being unloaded, cart tracks leading away in the direction of the storage your brother and I rent. The tracks were somewhat degraded, the horse droppings beginning to dry to a gray, which happens after an exposure of approximately four hours. I will assume that after your arrival, Watson sent for your belongings at your insistence, I doubt you would allow yourself to stay in the same suit more than a few hours of the day. The interim between his sending the message out, its arrival in Chelsea and the arrangement for transport and its arrival here is approximately two hours; hence your capture was before noon."

I gave Holmes a wink as I walked by. "Shall I ring for Mrs. Hudson to serve?"

Holmes dismissed James with a turn of his attention to me. "That would be splendid, Watson, I am quite famished."

As I did so, I could see that while my brother was impassive, his bright red ears betrayed his anger. I hazarded a guess that the test of temperament was not over.

I almost felt sorry for James at that point.

My brother attempted to gain the upper hand against Holmes several times during our repast, failing to realize that my flatmate merely found him amusing. After the dishes had been cleared away, he attempted a different tact.

"Last I heard, Mister Holmes, you were presumed to be dead, my brother mourned you deeply. I scarcely believed my eyes when I first saw him. The man had let himself go rather drastically. How do you move past such deception?" James remarked between blowing smoke rings with his cigarette, he was pretending to be bored, and that the question was casual, but I knew his tact.

My flatmate was searching his files on Dorchester, making an appalling mess of it I might add. He gave James a dismissive glance.

"I'm afraid that is a question for your brother. I did, however, notice that his mourning of your own supposed passing was effortless."

I had been sipping a late coffee, which came out in a spray as I laughed.

James tried not to sulk as he requested I pour him a cup, which he complained about after the first sip.

"Aha, I thought I recalled something about Dorchester," Holmes crowed.

He brought the file to me at my desk were I had been entering the day's activities, slapping a large file over my journal in his excitement. "I think I know what I will find tomorrow."

I restrained myself from showing irritation at his presumptuousness, and gave him the conversation he was expecting. "Oh?"

"Yes, Dorchester has had a history of being middleman in drop box schemes because of a former corrupt postmaster. I am postulating that a third party on behalf of a second party is brokering this trust set up for your nephew, and that third party is not in residence at Dorchester.

I contemplated his words. "That seems rather ominous, does it not?"

Holmes thought about my question. "It could be a simple matter of someone wishing to remain anonymous, or something more sinister, I won't know until I stake out the drop point, and then follow the solicitor to his offices. I may yet find someone beyond him; this onion might have a few more layers yet."

"Why is this even a concern?" James called, "so someone has provided for the little bastard, ever read Dickens?"

"Great Expectations," I recounted, "this does seem similar."

Holmes eyed James as if seeing him for the first time. "That is a valid point, Mister Watson, my assessment of your intelligence has increased."

James smirked, "By how much?"

Holmes thought for a moment. "Truth be known, my esteem only had one direction in which to progress."

James glowered.

I am afraid that point dashed any hope I had that those two would be friends.

Later, I had informed James that we would be leaving in the morning, had already listened to his protestations to the point of violence when I bent to cuff his arm to the couch leg to make sure he was not going to disappear in the night.

"That will not be necessary," Holmes remarked as he set his files to right.

"Why not?" I inquired while James grumbled under his breath about my lack of faith in my own brother.

"I poisoned the coffee with a compound I ran across in Nepal, the antidote is instantaneous if ingested in the first twenty-four hours, but beyond that, you suffer a horrid painful death. If he wants to live past tomorrow he will still be here by morning light."

I gaped at my flatmate, but then I noticed the twinkle in his eye, and the slight smile.

"Are you mad?" James demanded leaping to his feet.

Holmes shrugged. "Watson and I have already ingested the antidote, so we will be safe regardless. I do not intend on spending a night listening for floorboard creaks."

He made his way to his room door, "Good night, Watson."

I nodded exchanging a slight wink to let him know I understood the ruse, "G'night Holmes."

I ascended to my lodgings leaving my appalled brother to his own devices. I had an intuition he would not be resting very well.

---

My guess about the quality of my twin brother's sleep turned out to be accurate when I descended the next morning. He was seated at the table picking over the breakfast that Mrs. Hudson had already sent up.

"Good morning, dear brother, how faired your night?" I inquired in my most sincerely cheerful voice.

"You know how I faired, you insufferable barbarian, I cannot fathom that you would allow your own brother to be poisoned in such a cavalier manner!" he growled.

I gave him my brightest smile. "If there were such a poison, brother mine, I would know of it."

He gaped at me as I heaped some eggs and ham and poured myself a cup of morning coffee, which to my amusement I saw that he had not touched.

"You knew, and yet you said nothing," he spat at me his eyes flashing with fury.

I shrugged. "I did not wish to spend my night listening to the floorboards either; it was a little measure of legerdemain, harmless really."

I picked up the coffee pot. "Coffee?"

I will not recount the response, only that I had never heard worse in my army days. It is with some small pride I recount that my brother could curse with the best of them.

To my delight James gave Holmes and I a sullen silent treatment for the rest of our time in Baker Street. I insisted he only pack a valise for our trip, I did not intend on lugging that trunk around. For that, I received a look of the purest hatred.

All in all it was a pleasant morning I would have to say.

---

We arrived at the Kings Cross for the East Coast Line train north before my brother uttered his first word, small favours.

He stared at the ticket I had purchased. "This is not first class," he stated his tone appalled.

I rolled my eyes before responding, "Not everyone travels in decadence, James, most of humanity journeys as cheaply as possible."

His nose wrinkled in disgust. "Then why ever leave your hovels?"

I responded with a nudge to his back in the direction of the loading car.

We received quite a few second glances as we found and open compartment. I guess it is not every day that a person spies men of our age that look so similar. I was wearing my brown wool travel suit and my best bowler, but James was dressed nattily in black with a gold ascot and a topper, I am sure I looked like country mouse to James's city.

As we left London, and after I listened to more complaining than I could stomach, I allowed James to stretch his legs a bit with a insistence that he return to the car in a timely manner or I would use the cuffs.

He returned quarter of an hour later and grabbed his bag.

"Come with me," he insisted.

I was deep in the penultimate chapter of a book I had been saving for such a trip, so I was not in the mood for one of his shenanigans. However, it was a long trip so I stowed my book and at his insistence grabbed my valise to follow.

He took us forward to the first class accommodations, exchanging a nod with the steward as if nothing was amiss.

He stopped and opened the door to an opulent compartment. "This is far more civilised, don't you think?"

I gave him my suspicious eyes. "What are you up to?"

He shrugged. "Most rail lines leave one first class accommodation open for prestigious travellers. We couldn't have a royal personage, or parliament member stuck back with the hoi polloi from lack of foresight could we?"

I was unconvinced. "Who are we supposed to be?"

"Jacob and Elias Pendleton, second cousins to the Duke of Kent," he replied. Then he added, "I'll admit it was difficult to explain your attire, but one must be prepared for such eventualities. If someone should mention your recent recovery from mental stress, try not to act too addled."

I was about to refuse when he added. "The dining car is of course complimentary, they are serving Beef Wellington, and the wine selection is quite adequate."

My stomach made the decision for me. "Jacob or Elias?"

"You're Jacob, of course, little brother."

I sighed gave him my most long-suffering glare before I shuffled by his insufferable triumphant grin.

Those seats were comfortable, I am forced to admit.

---

It was in that dining car when we finally had the conversation that I had been dreading. In my recounting of the facts to James I had left out one salient detail.

I was cutting the last bit of the Beef Wellington, after enjoying one of the finest meals I had ever experienced with Crepes to come, James was studying the Claret that he had sent the long suffering Steward back three times to procure. A torture I had stopped with a well-placed kick to his shins.

"So, it looks like my son has turned out as disgustingly altruistic as his Uncle," James remarked with a shudder.

"He's a good boy, strong and compassionate, looks just like you at that age," I added.

He sipped the wine and set it down on the table on a carefully folded napkin. It was funny how I remembered all those little nervous gestures after so many years apart. "I suppose he'll spend the rest of his days in some little dreary parish baptising babies and burying grandmothers," he remarked with derision.

I sighed and took the opening. "I think a small village like that will be a good place to raise a child."

James glanced up to see me studying him. "So, my boy is married, how predictable."

"Married to Miriam and they have a daughter, Agatha, I've seen her picture, and she is a little angel."

He stared at his wine for a long time. The waiter had removed my plate and was lighting the crepes by the time he looked up.

I let our server pour me some of the wine; I offered it up for a toast. "Congratulations, James, you are a grandfather."

He clinked his glass with mine with a grimace, and then downed the remaining contents.

Less than hour later, we disembarked at Newcastle Central Station, Northumberland, that large city on the River Tyne. We could have taken the connection to Durham, but I chose us to go over land and found a conveyance out to Andrew's village seven miles south also on the Tyne, a little hamlet called Chester-le-Street.

The ancient Roman road, although well travelled, caused my companion much consternation as to the state of his back by the time we arrived. Our driver gave me more than one glance to see if I were opposed to my brother disappearing somewhere in the surrounding farmland in a shallow grave. I gave him a wry smile and shook my head to his disappointment.

We passed a lively cricket match on our way into town, that sport was more suited to James, sharing the space in a further field, however, was some less civilised lads involved in rugby, which brought a nostalgic smile to my own lips.

"You were always more the savage," James mentioned with a nudge to my ribs. "Well you never liked to get dirty," I shot back, "even though we lived in a Country Manor." He smiled. "Well just because we grew up rural does not preclude the need to remain civilised." I gave him an incredulous look. "I have a dictionary with me; care to look up the word?" "I have no need," he responded, "however; you may wish to look up refinement."

The village had two large Catholic churches tower over the smaller structures, St. Mary's and St. Cuthbert, the market was a busy hum as we passed.

The driver let us off and with a few inquiries; we were on our way on foot. James had a few choice words about walking but I ignored him, it served him right for not wearing proper shoes.

A friendly shepherd directed us down a narrow lane. We found the Lumely Methodist Church, which was an old river rock structure standing just off the road and the parsonage just across its graveyard.

"Quaint," James murmured.

I started on ahead when James placed a hand on my arm. "Wait," he said in a tone so unlike him that I stopped.

"I cannot do this, John," he said just above a whisper.

After travelling all that way, and dealing with James and his running commentary for the entire arduous journey I was not about to let him balk within sight of our goal.

"If I have to knock you cold or handcuff you to my arm you are going to go into that house and see that dying woman, so help me James, I will resort to violence."

He studied my face seeing the seriousness in my eyes.

"Why are you so adamant about this? You know me; you know this will alter my course not in the slightest, so why must we endure this charade?"

I reached out and grabbed his arm, maybe a little harder than I intended from his wince, but I wanted him to know my intent. "I have watched you shirk and throw away so many chances and opportunities over the years, I cannot even enumerate them, and here you are forced for once in your miserable life to face up to consequences of your actions. You will not walk away this time, you will not stick your head in the sand, and you will go in there and see this through with all the dignity you can muster."

His eyes were angry and defiant as he yanked his arm out of my grasp.

"Very well, let's get this over with so I can get back to my life."

We started toward the Parsonage; he was dragging his heels so I gave him a good shove, he glared at me but I pointed firmly to the door, he settled his coat and his hat squaring his shoulders, he strolled to the door, and gave it a firm knock.

Andrew opened the door and stood there, the look on his face was cold. Father and son stood eye to eye for the first time in their lives. No words passed. Andrew stood to the side and waved us in. He gave me a nod as I entered, shutting the door behind me.

* * *

**Story Notes: **I thought James would fair better in a battle of wits with Holmes, I thought he might make it under the Great Detective's skin at the very least. However, when I went to write the encounter I discovered that Holmes was far too controlled and disciplined and well informed to rise to the bait. James basically bashed himself against the shoals of a greater intellect. To be an irritant you have to find a crack and Holmes doesn't have those accept for Watson.

The way James turned a regular train ticket to a first class accommodation shows how with not visible income he manages to stay dapper LOL!

**Bart**


	4. Chapter 4 Tea With James

**Chapter Notes: **This chapter took some turns with James that I never anticipated, showing once again how he is the most unpredictable of all of my characters. He was at one time a talented barrister and that shows up in one memorable instance. I know it is a big block speech but if you have ever seen a summation in a court room, that's pretty much what it is.

I loved the interaction between Andrew and Miriam, they are quite the little couple, I tried to show that loving newlywed relationship without being too sappy, but lets face it, newlyweds are sappy. If you are diabetic I think you'll be okay.

Also, in case you had any concerns that Andrew is a Watson pay attention to how he and his wife met LOL!

**Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Prodigal Father**

**Part Four**

The interior of the parsonage was just as humble and unassuming as the outside. The furnishings were sturdy and old, left by past ministers over decades of service, but there were flourishes and touches that made what could have felt a museum into a home.

It was not just curtains and table coverings or flowers and personal books in the shelves, but something unidentifiable that said a family was living there.

Andrew led them past a sitting room into the parlour where a young nervous man with a doctor's bag was conferring quietly with a gentle looking wheat-blond haired girl holding a bundle in a way that suggested a child against her shoulder.

Her eyes found the new arrivals, growing large as she noticed the similarities between the three.

She walked forward with the doctor trailing close.

She held out an unadorned hand to me. "You must be Uncle John," she said with a sunny warmth that made me smile. "Must I?" I responded with a wink.

James let out a low groan bringing her attention to him.

"This would have to be my elusive much maligned father-in-law," she stated in a tone that was careful to conceal any intent.

James looked uncharacteristically cowed by her demeanour; he grasped her hand and murmured, "Mum."

"Andrew," she scolded, "These two have travelled a long way to see us, go make the tea while I put Agatha down."

The young man smiled sheepishly as he slipped by us on his way to the kitchen, James tutted under his breath to me, I gave him a warning glare to be nice.

"Before you go, mind if I take a look?" I asked Miriam. She smiled and turned down the blanket showing the tow headed little girl to best effect. The photograph did her no justice, little Agatha was absolute perfection. Miriam smiled at my intake of breath; I glanced at James to see that he had deliberately turned away, almost as if he was afraid to look. She walked away down a hallway turning into a darkened room.

"Hello, Doctor Watson?" said the young physician, his hair was the trademark shade of copper common in purer lowland Scots. "My name is Doctor Tierney; I must say this is an honour. Sir," he said in a rush as he assaulted my hand in his enthusiasm.

"You must not get many visitors of note," James quipped as he wandered over to study the titles on the bookshelf.

I noticed my contemporary was looking wane and I could see the symptoms of a medico who has fought his best against the coming night and had to concede defeat.

"Mrs. Swan?" I said trying to be as gentle as possible.

"It won't be long, sir, I am honestly shocked that she is still alive, her kidneys have all but shut down, her fever will not recede, and her lungs are draining so much fluid we have to force her to cough as to not drown. I keep saying she won't last the hour only to have her rally for one more clock round. She is resting as comfortable as possible, but I have her dosed on laudanum for the pain," he informed in a tired whisper. His eyes were shiny with weariness and exhaustion.

"Go home, Doctor, you know my credentials, if there is anything to be done I will see to it," I said as I turned him gently toward the door. He shuffled past after shaking my hand one last time. "Thank you, it has been a pleasure, however brief, I hope we can talk some more before you leave."

"Always eager to talk over the latest trends and technology with a recent grad," I assured him. He left with no backward glance, secretly relieved to have the burden lifted for the interim.

I closed the door behind him, returning to the parlour where Andrew was pouring out tea; James looked as if he were searching for a window to jump out of, accepting his cup with nothing but a nod. Miriam returned from her errand in time to play hostess, Andrew deferred to her, we sat around the small table by the window with a view of the rolling fields.

"Mum is resting, the nurse will give us a ring when she stirs," Andrew explained while his wife divided out a homemade apple tart, "so Miriam and I thought that we should take tea to get to know one another."

"May I expedite things, somewhat?" James blurted out in a suspiciously demure manner.

"Please," Miriam insisted as I took my first bite of the pastry.

James beamed at the couple across from us, "Splendid...where to begin?"

I blame my mouthful of one of the tastiest morsels I have sampled for my lack of intervention. His speech was one of the most singularly brutal I can ever recall hearing.

"I began life fifteen minutes ahead of mon frère over there, which means that since our parents were elderly, and once thought barren, all of the pressure to prove a viable heir to our father's fortune and reputation resided with me. Our parents, perhaps feeling impending death upon their necks, doted on me and generally ignored my superfluous brother causing me to become shiftless and lazy while he became highly motivated and heroic. I went into Law, as our father Judge Barnabas Watson wanted, though I despised it and wanted to be a professional Cricket bowler. At his insistence, I took my pick of the local flowers. I was my usual charming self, she a devout young girl, succumbed to my evil whims and this young man across from me was conceived without a viable union. She came to inform me of this fact at Cambridge and beast that I am, found me in the arms of another girl whose name I do not recall to this day, breaking off our engagement and participation in her life and the son within her. In the intervening years, my brother became a renowned soldier, doctor and hero, known to most English households. I, however, became a disbarred corrupt judge who drove our parents to an early grave, managing to fritter away our birthright, faking my death twice to escape creditors. So hated by my saintly brother, that he attempted to strand me on a distant island rather than have anything further to do with me. Now, here I am, across from the son I never knew, and his wife whom I only just heard about, up the hall from a little girl whose presence allows me to disappoint yet another generation, trying to make polite discussion before going in to hear the dying words of a woman who has every reason to wish me skewered."

His smile was a bitter twist of the lips as he finished. "Now, that brings us all up to date."

It was a summation delivered with skill and precision, showing that for all my brother's expressed hatred of the law, his skill as a litigator must have been considerable.

As we all gaped at my brother's barrage of bitterness, Andrew with his fork still halfway to his mouth, I recovered enough to grab the cube bowl and ask, "Sugar?"

"Yes, please," Miriam requested, holding her cup out.

A ringing bell saved us from any further comment.

"Go," Andrew said as his wife found his hand in a comforting gesture.

We opened the door to the room from whence the ringing came, to see an elderly woman was settling her patient back down into the bed, smoothing the coverlet. The nurse looked up and the lack of surprise in her faded brown eyes showed that she had been expecting an intrusion.

"I'll leave you alone with her, if you need anything please ring the bell," she instructed as she passed by on her way out.

James nudged Me forward. I sighed and made my way to the bed. It was hard to believe that the woman in the bed was two years younger than James and I. The fever had drained her of so much life and vitality that she was shrivelled and wan like a woman twice her age. The bright blue eyes shown with determination even though they were not focusing very well, making her effectively blind. In cases of high fever for extended periods of time the sensitive organs in the eye will begin to deteriorate, she was most likely seeing vague shapes.

"John Watson, is that you?" she called holding out her hand.

I accepted the fragile appendage, heated but somehow clammy. "How did you know?"

She laughed softly, the fluid in her lungs making the sound painful to the ears. "Hamish always made you sigh like that. He could always wind you up."

I smiled and patted her hand. "Hamish is here."

James shot me a glare as he came closer. "Hello there luv, you've been letting yourself go a bit I see. If you wanted me to visit, a return letter would have been more expedient don't you think?"

"John, I need to talk with Hamish a bit if you don't mind," Agatha informed me. I backed away and waved James forward. He knelt by her bed, she reached out and touched his face. "Ah, my handsome Hamish. Andrew looks so much like you and John, he could pass for a younger brother."

"The brother I have is all the bother I need," James remarked the strain in his voice betraying the price of his flippancy.

"I'm sorry," she said so quietly I nearly missed her words.

James's face pinched in confusion. "Whatever for?"

Agatha's eyes grew intense as she spoke, showing the effort involved. "I am sorry I told you to stay away, I'm sorry I did not marry you like you wanted me to, and I am sorry I lied about what really happened."

"Shhhhh," James cooed, "it's not important."

He picked up her hand and held it to his lips, she just had the strength for one last smile, and then she was gone. Her last breath escaped like a sigh.

I reached past James and shut her eyes.

"So...just like that," James remarked, building the walls of insouciance back into place as he replaced her hand on her chest.

"So it appears," I remarked trying to keep my voice even. James would not accept my empathy, so I did my best to hide it.

"I need a drink, are we heading back tonight?" he inquired as he stood rather stiffly.

"We are staying for the funeral," I stated in a tone that allowed for no protest. James protested anyway. "I assume you are checking us into that flea-ridden sheep herder's paradise that we passed on the main?"

"That's the one," I confirmed.

"I will see you there," he stated as he passed me on his way out of the room.

He paused in the parlour, Andrew and Miriam read his eyes, she began softly crying on his shoulder, his face was emotionless and grave.

It was all too much for James; he replaced his hat and walked out.

The nurse nodded to me as she walked by going in to tidy up.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked sitting across from them.

Andrew wiped a stray tear from his eye, shaking his head. "It was all arranged, she received her friends while she was alive, she will be buried tomorrow, with a wake in a few days."

I understood the expediency, in rural communities, lacking embalming facilities; bodies were placed in the ground with a swiftness not seen in Metropolitan areas.

I slid my chair around to his side, reached out and gave him a reassuring pat on the knee. "I'll need to sign the papers, I can testify to the time of death because I was the attending physician, then if you don't mind, I'd like to visit with you for a while."

He looked a little surprised, but nodded after a moment. "I'd like that."

---

Even under the grim circumstances, the visit was more enjoyable than I had hoped.

Agatha's body was removed from the house while I filed the death certificate with the magistrate and answered any questions. I checked James and I into that Hotel he mentioned, it was not opulent, but Holmes and I had stayed in worse by far.

I saw no sign of James in the town, so I assumed he had found a tavern, or a lass, or both. I tried not to imagine what he might be doing.

I returned to find Andrew and Miriam in better spirits; the later was cooking dinner while Andrew played with Agatha.

The little girl took to me rather quickly, I had worked with toddlers often enough, I know some of the tricks to win their trust; however I discovered her fascination with facial hair the hard way.

"Yow!" I exclaimed, trying not to upset her as her pudgy little fingers twisted in the corner of my moustache. She had a grip far beyond her tender years.

Andrew laughed as he reached by me and pried her fingers loose with a familiarity of one who has had his moustache assaulted as well.

"Sorry, Uncle John, she has this thing for facial hair, Father Gregory was nearly on his knees before we got her grip loose from his beard."

Miriam was bringing in a savoury shepherd's pie; she looked over at me checking for missing tufts covering my lip with a knowing smile. Agatha giggled and reached again but fortunately, I had learned my lesson and gently caught her hand with a playful tussle.

I enjoyed the modest dinner. Miriam was an amazing cook. Both she and Andrew were well informed and intelligent showing me those books on the many shelves had seen some use. I brought up the inevitable question of how they met; Andrew's ears grew suspiciously red, showing he had the Watson tell for embarrassment.

"Considering the first time he asked me on a date, he was not wearing a stitch, our courtship followed the usual channels," Miriam informed with a sly smile.

I leaned back studying the little glances. I felt a sudden pang missing Mary, a happy couple is in those little glances and secrets. The affectionate touches, the reassuring eye contact, even the way his hand found hers without having to look for its location. I did not begrudge them their happiness, but the moment was poignant for me, to say the least.

"This is a story I must hear," I teased.

"Tell him," Miriam prodded, "or I will. My angle was less flattering."

Andrew blew out a breath, and began his tale.

"It was the summer before I was to graduate, my friend Luther Masterson told me and some other dormitory dwellers that there was this secluded spot on the Seminary grounds with a pond, and on the weekends it was deserted. We were all steaming and a dip sounded good. So we followed him down and disrobed, since it was just the men after all."

Miriam picked up the narrative as she tried to get some applesauce into Agatha, a chore to be sure. "As it so happens my finishing school was rather fond of that pond, which was actually on our property, for sun bathing. Finding a group of naked, splashing Seminarians was a surprise to say the least!'

There was a sparkle in Andrew's eye as he recollected. "The women were all properly scandalized except for one. The light caught her hair, and rather than act as if she was averting her eyes and appalled about the horror of it all, she watched us quickly dressing with more amusement than anything. That was the moment I knew I had to ask her for a date."

She rolled her eyes as Agatha dodged yet another spoon full with admirable flexibility. "This bloke comes walking up to me, covering all he could with just his trousers and underclothes, and had the cheek to ask me if he could have my name and permission to call some evening. I said "It depends, are you going to be properly attired?"

Andrew laughed at the memory. "To which I replied, that would be the ladies choice."

I had to grin at that.

_The boy is definitely a Watson!_

Miriam shrugged. "I had seen the packaging, and found it to my liking, so I thought I would see if the man within was worthwhile."

Andrew was smiling but his cheeks were as red as his ears now.

There came a knock at the door.

Andrew went to answer and admitted a tall-red haired gentleman wearing a constables uniform.

"Good evening, Reverend, I thought I'd stop by, sorry about your mum, but I think you'll be wanting to come get your Pater before he winds up in the graveyard beside her."

"Hello," I called as I walked up.

The constable's eyes went wide when he saw me. "Corr, they do look jes alike don they?"

"About my father, Collin?" Andrew reminded.

Collin got back on track. "Well he's down at the Sheep Shearer, about five shots deep into the 'lament."

Andrew made a hissing noise in his teeth.

"I'm sorry, but what is the 'lament?" I asked worried by my nephew's reaction.

"Oh it's called "Lowlander's Lament" because some lowland Scots brought it down, it's a local brewed Scotch Whiskey that will turn your brain to mush. The man who makes it swears an ancestor's batch put William Wallace himself on his arse," Collin informed with a smirk.

I scoffed at that notion.

Collin nodded his head eager to prove his words. "There was this man down in Durham Town that has a bull he taught to drink Guinness by the trough full. He came up here on a bet, gave his bull a bowl of the 'lament."

He paused for effect.

I took the bait. "What happened?"

"Best steak I ever et!" Collin replied with an eyebrow waggle.

Andrew groaned showing that he had heard that particular story more than once.

Collin suddenly got serious. "You need to come get yer father, Andrew, he's already insulted half the bar fool 'o Scots, the last time they hung an outlander was twenty years ago, but they look like they are building up to an exception!"

I grabbed my coat and hat. Andrew began making preparations as well. I stopped him with a hand. "You need to finish your eulogy; I'll take care of James. When is the funeral?"

He sighed as he hung his coat back up. "Nine o'clock."

I clapped his shoulder. "We'll see you there."

I turned to Collin. "Lead the way."

**to be concluded**

* * *

**Story Notes:** In case you are howling at me for the conclusion, it is in the works and will be out this weekend. One Last War has been stalled on one scene and this story was the overflow and is coming along brilliantly. Stay tuned!

Preview: James insults some big burly Scots and emeshes his poor brother in a bar fight. The funeral of Agatha Swan. The truth behind Andrew's mysterious benefactor. Will James become a father and grandfather and find some small measure of redemption? Whew! It's going to be a doozy!

**Bart**


	5. Chapter 5 Conclusion

**Chapter Notes:** I am glad I got this plot bunny. I am glad I have at least three reviews! I'm glad that I found a character that people both love and revile and love to hate. The glass is half full damn it! LOL!

I had to include a little of my trademark bad ass Watson in this installment. I also had to come up with a way to show James has some good in him without making him fluffy. I needed a way to get him to do the right thing without taking away his inherent jerkdom. The method I came up with is one I found personally satisfying I hope you.

So Merry Christmas to all who love a character who is an unmitigated ass!

Thanks for reading!

**Bart**

* * *

**The Case of the Prodigal Father**

**Part Five**

The _Sheep Shearer _was a typical small town tavern. Old dark stained wood, floors sprinkled with sawdust, lightweight and expendable tables and chairs, this one had a full complement of clientele that is only available this far north, a group of big burly Scotsmen all in their cups.

I saw the growing danger from the door.

James was at the bar surrounded by onlookers and encouragers. In front of him was the seventh shot going down, he picked up his Guinness bottle for the chaser, but I saw him pulling one of his old tricks and I knew that the bottle was not as empty now as it was a few moments ago. The Lowlander's lament must have been every bit as harsh as Collin asserted because even with the little amount that James was absorbing he was about as drunk as I have ever seen him.

The crowd around him cheered, and moved enough that I saw another colossal Scot on the floor by James's feet passed out after five shots. There was money on the bar and James was beginning to collect it when one of the Scots slapped a hand down on his.

I saw a barmaid watching off to the side, she looked like a veteran from her growing alarm. I turned to Collin. "Do you have a gun on you?"

Collin shook his head. "Don carry one most nights but things are going googly in here, I'll be righ back."

"I'll try to mediate, but I think there's going to be violence," I informed him. He left in a rush.

I handed my hat and coat to the barmaid. "If you'd be so kind."

She nodded, "Be careful, that bunch tore up the place last month, put a local boy in the clinic, they're brawlers."

I nodded as I slipped my suspenders down off my shoulders to dangle at my waist, I had lost several buttons off my trousers when I was young before I realized the necessity of this action before fighting. I was a much younger lad then; this old man has ducked quite a few punches in all the time since. James started most of those earlier fights too; of course, he always managed to emerge unscathed while they stitched me up.

I was halfway across to the bar when James tipped things past the breaking point.

"Yer cheatin, I saw ya," the Scot insisted.

"Why do Scotsmen wear kilts?" James replied.

I hurried up but I was not going to make it in time.

"Huh?" asked the confused accuser.

James smiled in that instigative way that let me know he was more sober than he had first appeared. "They wear kilts because unfastening trousers warns the sheep of their amorous intent."

It took a few moments before the Scot realized how he had been insulted. Even so, I stepped up between him and my tottering brother just in time.

I stopped the first punch with an intercepting hand. "You don't want to do this, laddy; he's drunk, not worth the bother of beating."

I thought I had defused the situation for a moment, but I could see that I was dealing with the worst combination possible, youth, aggression, and eagerness.

"Too late," he informed me a moment before he threw another punch.

I ducked it, slipped behind and slammed his head on the bar top scattering shot glasses, His partners waded in and things went hazy for a while as they tend to do in a full blown melee.

The next assailant was tall and I ducked his wild swing and caught him in the kidney, which caused his knees to buckle I was barely clear of him when the next bloke attempted a hammer blow to my head, which grazed my ear, I made him pay for his miss with my patented right hook. He was on the floor shaking his head before he realized that he had even been hit. I heard a breaking bottle and the first bloke was back, I was about to engage him when James hit him in the back of his head with an empty tray, his eyes rolled in his head as he fell. I did not have time to show gratitude as the last two blokes grabbed my arms from behind, intending to rush me and slam me against the bar. Luckily, Holmes had shown me some of his Bartitsu moves for such an eventuality. As they tried to spin me around, I stepped behind the leading leg of the bloke on my left arm and with a sweep and a strong push, lifted him off his feet and slammed him to the ground. The bloke on my other arm came forward when his partner's push ended, I slipped behind him and with a grab of the back of his shoulders and a half side lock, twisted him in the air to land on his partner. Others were thinking about trying me when there was the explosive sound of a gun fired indoors by the front door.

Everyone startled and looked to see Collin with a smoking revolver aimed to the ceiling.

"That firs one was a blank, got five more than aren't, break it up."

I was settling my suspenders back into place when the first assailant picked himself up off the floor. "What are you, anyways?" He asked as he held a hand to his kidney, "never seen an old bloke fight like that."

I inwardly groaned at the "old bloke" comment.

"Thas my bro...ther," James informed him, before promptly passing out on the bar top.

The Scotsman gave me another once over. "Blimey but don't you two look alike!"

I had to roll my eyes at that.

Collin walked up, "That's Doctor Watson, McEwen, you guys picked on the wrong man tonight."

McEwen's eyebrow rose. "_The_ Doctor Watson, from _The Strand_?"

I left them to their conversation while I tended to my inebriated brother.

I was supporting James's weight as he began sliding off his stool, trying to keep him out of the floor.

The murmur began as the news spread of who I was. I settled James onto a temporary perch. Collin stood by me looking at the boys in differing stages of getting themselves together.

"You call this mediating?"

I shrugged, accepting my coat and hat from the grateful barmaid who gave me a salacious wink.

_If only I were younger._

Collin lined up the Scots, berating them for disturbing the peace then turned back to me.

"You wanna press charges, Doc?"

As an answer, I picked up James's ill-gotten winnings, offered them to the barkeeper who was just now setting his stock in order. "Guinness for the whole bar for as long as this money lasts."

I turned to the battered group. "No charges, no hard feelings."

The same Scots that had been coming for my blood were now cheering and singing my praises for thrashing them, raising their tankards in salute.

God loves the Scottish.

I turned to Collin, "help me get him to the Hotel, I think things will be peaceful until you get back."

The bar patrons lined up for their drafts slapping James and me on the back as I lugged him to his feet. Collin slipped under his other arm. The curvy tavern mistress that held my hat and coat found James's topper and placed it on his head, giving him a kiss on the cheek, which James managed to respond with a soggy leer, and we got him out of there.

It was a short walk down the sparsely populated street to our Hotel, the _Roman Street Inn _night clerk held the door for us.

"Got a telegram for you, Doctor Watson." He informed as we started across the small lobby.

"Pocket," I told him turning to the side, he stuffed the paper in my coat. I promised him a tip later and we started up the stairs, James was stirring enough to help a bit by then, but my back was protesting by the time we reached the landing and turned to our room door.

Collin supported my bedraggled twin while I found the key and opened the door, and turned up the gaslights, I accepted him back with a creak of my knees.

"I think I can take it from here, thank you for your help, Constable."

Collin nodded. "Ta see you take on a whole bar of Scots, I'd ave to say, my pleasure."

I gave him a glare. "You watched?"

He shrugged unrepentant. "Chester's a small village, not much happenin',"

"Why didn't you fire earlier?" I demanded.

Collin smirked. "I wanted to see ya do some damage to that lot, teach'em a lesson, but I had no idea you have such a nasty stripe. I fired that gun for their sake not yours," he said with a laugh. "Next time yer up, ya gotta show me tha last move!"

He tipped his hat, smile still plastered on his face, and left.

I sighed, lifted an addled James onto my hip, and helped him to the bed nearest, where I deposited him with one last effort. He was so intoxicated he stayed precisely where he landed.

"That 'lament's poison." James complained, his accent getting thicker as his voice slurred.

I shook my head as I closed the door.

"I think'm dyin," he concluded.

I lifted up his left foot and worked on his expensive shoe. "You are not dying," I insisted as I pulled off the other one.

"How'd ya know?" he replied as I raised him up to get his coat and hat off.

"Because I should be so lucky," I replied with a wry smile.

I placed those items to the side, and turned back to see him staring at me from a closer distance than we had been in a while.

I was struck at how we were aging in subtle, different ways, his face was so like my own, except for a little wider nose and slightly more prominent cheek bones, but he had less smile lines and his eyes were darkly ringed from too many nights engaged in other activities than sleep. His skin was smoother from staying out of the sun, but also less healthy in pallor. We were growing old, my brother and I, but it surprised me to realize that in some ways time had turned the tables giving me an easier passage in my middle years than it had James.

"I've been a shite brother to you, John, can ya forgive me?" he asked his red-rimmed eyes bright with alcohol-induced delirium.

I knew that if asked about his words when sober he would have no recollection, and this moment in time represented in no way a change in his behaviour towards me but I just accepted it for what it was. "There's nothing to forgive," I assured him as I helped him with his suspenders.

"She was th'love of me life, John, th'was ner one else," he murmured as I leaned on my shoulder while I unbuttoned his shirt.

I realized that I might not have another chance to get answers than this rare brief vulnerability so I pressed the issue. "Then why did you cheat on her, James."

He shook his head adamantly as I removed his shirt. "Din't cheat, she broke it off wit me, wanted to marry er."

"Why would she break up with you if she was pregnant with her child?" I asked leaving off preparing him for bed for the moment.

His eyes grew haunted with a pain still fresh thought over twenty years buried. "She said I corrupted er, I'd corrupt our child," he said weaving with vertigo. I reached out a steadying hand. "She tol me to stay 'way, if I luffed her ta stay away," he finished his eyes closing.

He went limp but I managed to lower him to the bed.

I removed the trousers and socks and slipped him under the covers. The strange defenceless man I was tucking into bed was unnerving me a bit to say the least. I felt as if I should check his identity when he cracked his eyes one last time and muttered, "Matress 's atrocious."

I had to smile at that. _Yes, it is James Watson in that bed._

I turned down the overhead lamps.

There was a desk across the room, I crossed to it and lit the lamp, pulling out the telegram.

**FOUND THE BENEFACTOR::STOP**

**TOO LONG FOR TELEGRAM::STOP**

**LETTER SENT SHOULD ARIVE TOMORROW::STOP**

I stared at the cryptic message, wondering what Holmes had found out that he sent a letter.

I turned around in the chair and stared at my slumbering sibling. It was easy to forget all the bother and annoyance he had caused me over the years to see him like this. With a start, I realized that Holmes was correct in his assessment of my true feelings concerning James; the bitter truth was that I never had truly given up on him.

Maybe my longsuffering attitude with my brilliant, acerbic flatmate all these years was just an extension of the tolerance I would have shown James, if I had been permitted.

These thoughts were too heavy for my weary mind, so I turned the lamp off and turned James gently on his side to prevent asphyxiation in the night, before preparing myself for the night in the bed adjacent.

I set the alarm clock provided for seven o'clock, gave it a good wind and set it between the beds on the nightstand. I'll admit it was with an evil smile I slid it closer to his side.

---

The jangling of the alarm and the accompanying curses woke me that morning. I cut the alarm, my hung over brother sleepily questioned my parentage under his breath which I thought was a bit hypocritical.

"The funeral is at nine, James," I informed him as I stood and crossed to my valise and tried to decide what to wear.

I sighed wearily when I heard another snore from the cocoon James had made of his bed clothing. I was not going to force him to attend. I hope he would want to on his own but Holmes was right about it needing to be James choice.

It was eight o'clock when I left the room, cleaned up and ready. I left the alarm right near James's ear set for ten minutes. I was not going to coerce him but torturing him a bit was in my purview.

---

I walked through the rousing village receiving friendly greetings and strange looks. I thought that the attention could be partially my newness to town, but the fact I looked so much like a minister who was well known might have been part of the scrutiny.

I arrived at the parsonage, admitted by my solemn nephew, and enjoyed a brief breakfast with him and his wife. Little Agatha was making a mess of little pieces of jam and toast happily finding a way to decorate her high chair. She was a balm to her parents and me; it was hard to be dour in the presence of such enjoyment and vitality.

A knock came and a teenage girl came in, from the delighted squeals, she was someone well known to the toddler, she and Miriam had a short discussion from which I gathered that she was to watch the baby while her parents took care of the grim business next door.

At quarter to nine, we left to travel the short distance into the graveyard were the grave was already dug, and the coffin was being placed upon the bier.

Andrew had a paper in his pocket which he pulled out and refolded several times, notes for his most difficult sermon yet. How do you bury your mum, who has been the only parent you have ever known at such a tender age? I clasped his shoulder giving what meagre comfort that was mine, his wife held his hand while they received the well wishes of his parishioners.

Andrew observed that none of his mum's family had made the trip or visited her during her convalescence, even after all this time she was still an outcast to the deeply religious folk from whence she sprang.

"That is one of the dichotomies that convinced me to enter the ministry," He explained, "my mum was raised believing that all could be forgiven, that Christ's love was absolute, his gift eternal, and yet those who raised her abandoned her and myself in the name of that same God. It was my search to understand why that was that led me to a true understanding of God, and I wanted to teach others." His voice broke, and a tear slipped down his cheek as his wife slipped an arm around his waist giving comfort.

I looked around at the small gathering and saw how stricken and sorrowful the mourners were seeing their young pastor's plight. It was a small congregation but his devotion to their care now was reciprocated back to him and his wife. Somewhere in his mum's home land was a family that had turned their back on her and the illegitimate child within, they would never know just how wonderful a man he turned out to be all in the name of righteousness. In some ways Andrew's mum had made the same mistake with James, I wondered what kind of man he would have become if she had married him as he begged her too.

That graveyard was full of ghosts that day, not only of what was, but also of what would never be.

Andrew raised his voice asking people to gather and he began the service with a prayer.

I moved further back to the fringe, being a visitor, someone walked up and stood beside me. I cheated and opened one eye surprised to see that it was James.

"You are a right bastard, you know that?" he grumbled just loud enough for me to hear.

"Thank you, dear brother," I responded with a cheeky grin.

An elder woman nearby shushed us to silence.

"I took a better look at James and was deeply disturbed to realize that even drastically hung over, with less time to prepare, he still looked better than me. His suit was dapper and cut for his frame, his, moustache trimmed to perfection, and he had added a pair of smoke lensed glasses to protect his tired eyes from the glare. It was most disconcerting.

"That coat of yours was something people behind fashion stopped wearing five years ago," he teased just loud enough for me to hear.

I shot him a glare and focused in on my nephew's words.

I was seeing my brother's blood coming out in Andrew as he delivered his oratory. He was precise and clear, his points were logical and his bible quotations precise. He paused for effect, and sometimes for emotion as he spoke of his mum being a modern Hannah, who gave her son Samuel back to God when he was of age. He did not refer to her struggle to raise him out of wedlock, but he complimented her on her strength of will and for her determination and devotion. I have seen acts of bravery in all forms, but a young man delivering the eulogy for his only parent at a young age with such strength of conviction ranks there with any heroism I have ever witnessed.

"He is good," James muttered, "I'll give the lad that much, he is very good."

I had to shake my head at that. James complimenting some besides himself, even in an overt manner was akin to a standing ovation.

Two burly undertaker assistants lowered the coffin into the ground with rope after the service ended with a prayer. Andrew and his wife received the blessing of their congregation and friends.

We stood to the side, I acknowledged any nods sent our way while James tried to stay on his feet.

"Excuse me, Doctor Watson?"

I turned to see the morning clerk at our Hotel holding a letter. I tipped the lad very well and left James to his own devices while I walked a short distance away and read Holmes's missive.

To say it was illuminating would be understating its impact.

I saw Andrew making his way to his father so I walked back over and joined them.

"I have prayed for days about what I should say to you," Andrew began. James gathered himself visibly, squaring his shoulders to take the blow he was anticipating.

Andrew renewed his grip on his wife's hand for support; she gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"I had a conversation with my mum the night before she died. It changed a few of my misconceptions I must admit," he began, "I know that she did not catch you cheating on her, that she did tell you of my existence, and that she wanted you to stay away."

James blinked behind the glasses in surprise.

Andrew looked down to gather his strength for his next words; they came out a little shaky with emotion. "I have hated you for so many years; you were the great obstacle of my existence. The man who left mum and I defenceless in this world, and now I discover that it was a lie."

"Yer mum was not wrong," James interjected. "I wasn't the sort of man you could raise a child with; you can see the truth of her words standing in front of me in how you turned out."

He seemed to catch himself and added, "You know besides the whole penniless vicar in a backwater sheep market stop bit."

There was a moment of awkwardness as Andrew sought to determine if his father was serious, he made the correct choice as he and his wife broke out in laughter.

I joined them a second later; James cracked a smile, even though he was most likely being serious.

Andrew settled down after a minute. "I wanted to tell you that even though you were denied the chance to be my father, you are free to be a grandfather to Agatha. My home is open to you any time you choose to visit. I am a man now and can make my own choice, and I choose to know you."

He held out a hand to James, received with a tentative return from James.

"Please, come to dinner tonight, you and John," Miriam said with a smile, her husband nodded his agreement.

"We would love to," I answered for James moving up behind my brother, I placed one knuckle into his kidney region until he assented with a pained, "Sounds lovely."

They looked delighted as they turned to traipse back across the graveyard to their home.

"I would have accepted without you assaulting my person, you rugby playing ruffian!" James said with a hiss as he turned on me, his face livid.

I gave him a condescending eyebrow. "I did not hear an acceptance coming from you."

He shrugged. "Actually I thought we would dine at this local establishment tonight, the cook is _Le Cordon Bleu_ trained, well thought of in the publications, and the wine is local and respected."

I gave him my most heated stare. "You mean to tell me that you would turn down an offer from your daughter-in-law and only son, to meet your grandchild and spend time with them over fine dining?"

He gave me his _look whose being daft_ eye roll. "_Le Cordon Bleu_, John, they don't come finer. I was shocked that even one such as this is in Northumbria, much less in this backwater on the moor drain."

I pulled out Holmes's letter and began to read aloud.

_Dear Watson,_

_I would ask how you are fairing but you are travelling with James so it is not difficult to deduce your current temperament._

_Why did I choose to write you with the answer I had been seeking? Well, the circumstances of my discovery are just as vital to the ultimate answer as the revelation itself._

_The Dorchester drop was in a flower shop just off the main. I staked the establishment out using four different disguises until a well-dressed man came in, he was carrying a solicitor's attaché. He took an arrangement and slipped something into his case, after he left I followed; he dumped the flowers in a rubbish bin two blocks over, and took a bus across town._

_He finally disembarked at the law offices of Findley, Findley and Burke._

_I waited until they left for the day and entered. I know you are not happy I did so, but they are involved in illegal activities so I felt the action justified._

_I was unable to find the information after several hours, so I visited the solicitor's home._

_Nathaniel Burke was understandably dismayed after I rushed his door, he was about to summon a constable but at the mention of my name his face went pale and his cooperation level increased dramatically._

_We adjourned to his study to discuss the matter._

_As it happens the Watson Trust is the least of the illegal activities, his firm is involved, and so at my promise of anonymity he told me the specifics._

_The Watson trust was set up on behalf of another law student he was friends with at school. It was at first a relatively small amount, but then after the law student graduated it grew larger, then greater still after the entirety of the young man's inheritance was liquidated and funnelled into the account. The reason it was not on the books at the law firm was that it he handled all matters personally using his firm's resources and access to banking through Credit Suisse in Zurich. _

_The entire Watson fortune is still there, to this day. All payments are from the principle and doled out with the name John Watson as the signatory. The reason why this is legal, because the instigator and overseer of the enterprise is one Hamish John Watson, seeing as John is his official legal middle name all the transactions are legitimate._

_One last morsel for thought, and a fact I find extraordinarily pertinent. _

_The only name as beneficiary is Andrew Watson, therefore since the account was from its inception designated as a trust for his son, Hamish J. Watson cannot access the money he can only monitor it, which he does through ledger pages that Burke sent him to various addresses over the years.  
It appears that your brother is our Magwitch._

_I am a man of reason, of intellect and pure realms of thought, but in this matter, I find I must offer you advice that is foreign to me. Trust your heart; you will know the proper dispensation._

_I await your return,_

_Holmes_

I finished the letter and put it away.

James removed his glasses squinting at the brightness of the day, his eyes furious.

"So, you have discovered my darkest secret, I've done one unselfish thing in my life, what will you do now?" he stated with a challenging glare.

I felt my face form an evil smile as I hit upon a solution.

"I, dear brother, am going to black mail you."

His look of unabashed shock was my reward. "You're what?"

I laughed. "I am going to extort, extract, wrest, force, and in all matters coerce you. You are familiar with the term?"

He gave me a glare of the deepest loathing, "Of course I am, I've done it often enough myself. What are your demands?"

I held the letter up to his nose, snatching it away from his grasp at the last moment when he attempted to grab it.

"My terms are simple; you are going to be a father to Andrew, father-in-law to Miriam, and a doting loving grandfather to Agatha. You are going to visit them at least twice a year, since I am intending to stay in touch, I'll inquire after you from time to time. The first notification that they have not seen you in the space of a year, I will set down with Andrew and reveal all I know. He will know that his father never let him go, and has watched him through the money exchanges for his entire life."

James looked positively appalled. "You wouldn't!"

I stepped closer so James and I were nearly nose-to-nose. "Look into my eyes brother, you've set across from the best card players in the Isle, am I bluffing?"

He turned away in defeat. "Of course you're not; you don't know how to bluff. If you say it, you mean it. I have always hated that about you."

"Then we understand each other," I said in my brightest tone as I clapped him on the back.

"But, what does a grandfather do?" James inquired in a confused voice.

I shrugged. "I don't know from experience mind you, but I think you show up unexpectedly amidst squeals of delight and joy from your grandchildren, spoil them rotten, teach them inappropriate behaviours, then say goodbye just before they become too obnoxious, leaving them to their parents to sort."

He gave me a lopsided grin similar to my own. "I already do that with spoiled heiresses, I think we have an accord."

"We were invited to dinner," I reminded him, "not lunch, so we can still sample the French cooking."

He threw an arm around my shoulders. "What a grand idea, I'm even going to buy." He was a couple steps away before I grabbed his sleeve with a hand out and my eyes flashing warning. He turned back with a sheepish grin and handed me my purloined wallet.

"You cannot blame a bloke for trying,"

I rolled my eyes.

_Even if he has a deeply buried streak of good, he is James Watson after all!_

---

The lunch was as promised, and the time I spent in my brother's company was not all that unpleasant. I did have to aim another kick at his shins when he was nasty to the waiter about what he perceived as an over cooked flambé, but for the most part, he behaved.

I finally handed him the letter that Andrew had entrusted to my care on first meeting; it was from Agatha Swan herself. James read it, his face going completely dispassionate which told me all I needed to know about the contents. He slipped it into his inner coat pocket and we referenced it no more. I am quite sure that my brother never got over her. I am not going to make excuses for his callous disregard for women since, but it was another piece to the puzzle that James Watson represented.

I insisted he go on to Andrew's home while I packed and bought tickets for the evening train.

I sent Holmes a short telegraph to let him know of my return and of my gratitude for his help.

I set off for my nephew's parsonage carrying our bags, wondering how my brother packed so much into so little.

I was admitted by Andrew dressed in shirtsleeves, he put a finger to his lips and waved me inside. I set our bags down by the door and followed his motions to the parlour. He smiled and pointed to a rocker by the fireplace.

There, sound asleep with a little infant girl on his chest, her tiny fingers gripping his moustache, was Hamish John Watson looking more content than I can ever remember him being.

"The Lord does still move among his people," Andrew whispered his eyes sparkling with joy.

I threw an arm around my new found nephew's shoulder and nodded my agreement.

He left to help with dinner; I stayed and watched the two bonding by the fire.

Here was my prodigal brother returning home. Unlike the older brother in the parable, I have to say I did not mind in the slightest.

* * *

**Story Notes:** My grandmother was an unwed mother, and when she goes home even though she is in her eighties she still gets the sidelong glances and whispers. She is one of the sweetest people walking on this earth and the son she had is extremely successful and has two successful children and a beautiful wife. There are seeds of greatness in all life no matter where it begins.

I had to walk a thin line in this chapter somehow showing James as sympathetic without him losing his edge, having his own brother blackmail him into fulfilling his duties as a father so his son won't know that he was a good father after all? I thought that was twisted enough to be Jamesworthy.

Thanks for reading guys!

Especially thanks to those who click that little review button and let me know I'm not alone. snif

**Bart**


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